


searching my world for a love everlasting

by owilde



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Making My Own Canon, Pining, Romance, Tragic Romance, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 12:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18850807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: Arnold was so very clever, so very good. So deserving of better. Robert was not that. He knew it. Had resigned to it. It still stung to remember.





	searching my world for a love everlasting

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I've yet to watch S2, so! This is based entirely on S1. I smelled angst and sank my claws in. Arnold deserved better.
> 
> Title taken from Dionne Warwick's "Heartbreaker"

_i. before_

Robert watched Arnold over his glass of cheap red wine. Arnold rarely dressed down – yet another thing they had in common – and seeing him, his tie tossed aside and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a few buttons undone and his jacket nowhere to be seen – was a joy Robert never got tired of.

Arnold took his glasses off and cleaned them, head tilted downwards. The setting sun caught him at a perfect angle, illuminating him in delightful hues and shadows. He was, absurd though it felt to think, rather perfect. Here they were, attempting to create the ultimate, flawless being, one incapable of feeling pain, or guilt, or hurt – a being who would outshine people, would live past their expiration date – and yet, as Robert continued to watch Arnold, he felt it was quite a futile effort.

Robert took a sip of his drink and averted his gaze as Arnold put his glasses back on. A gentle breeze came from the sea, bringing with it the sweet smell of summer. “Have you fixed the new codes?” Robert asked, squinting his eyes against the harsh white lines of the ocean, where the sun was disappearing below the horizon.

“Tomorrow,” Arnold assured him. Robert heard him sigh. “She sent the papers today.”

It was unexpected enough to cause Robert’s attention to snap towards him in an instant. _Too fast_ , he scolded himself. _Too eager_. “Oh?” He exclaimed, keeping his voice indifferent, but not flippant.

“Mmh,” Arnold hummed. He was looking at the empty ashtray on the table, but his eyes weren’t seeing it – they were looking somewhere far beyond, somewhere Robert couldn’t see. “All they need is my name, and it’s done.”

Robert did his best to quell the excitement threatening to bubble in his chest, he really did. He cleared his throat, took another sip of the terrible, terrible wine, and felt brave enough to ask, “You’ll sign them?”

Arnold blinked, and returned back from wherever he’d gone off to. He stood up, setting his glass down, and walked over to the balcony rail, leaning his arms on top of it. Robert leaned back, looking up at him. Arnold was so very clever, so very good. So deserving of better. Robert was not that. He knew it. Had resigned to it. It still stung to remember.

“I suspect I will,” Arnold said at last. He was looking towards the horizon. “If she wants a divorce, I… It’s what’s best for the both of us. And Charlie. It will… alleviate some of the tension. It’s for the best.”

Robert huffed. “So you keep saying. Makes me doubt your conviction.”

Arnold turned to smile at him, one of his genuine, warm smiles, for once not fleeting or distracted. Robert smiled back on reflex, feeling his stomach tingle. How did the song go? Only a fool breaks his own heart. Robert was, without a doubt, quite the fool.

“Thank you,” Arnold said, apropos of nothing. His voice had gone quiet, his words private and personal.

Robert frowned at him. “Whatever for?”

Arnold turned away as the sun dipped below the sea, shrugging his shoulders. “For being my friend. I know I can be… distant. And now with Charlie, and Lauren, it’s all so much. This may be my life’s work, but I couldn’t do it without you, Robert.”

There was a strange feeling in Robert’s chest, wrapping itself around his lungs and squeezing, squeezing until Robert recognized it as the adoration it was, and shivered despite the heat. “Likewise,” he said, his voice by far steadier than his hands, which he suddenly found were shaking ever so slightly.

They remained on the balcony for a moment longer, lingering in the after glow of the sunset, until Arnold suggested they better get back inside before it got cold. He placed his hand on the small of Robert’s back as he guided him to the room.

Robert slept poorly that night, staring into the ceiling and _longing_.

 

_ii. during_

Arnold leaned closer, closer, closer – close enough that Robert’s eyes crossed, trying to follow the trajectory of his mouth, before it met with his lips and his eyes fell shut as he relaxed into the kiss, his hands winding around Arnold’s shoulders, Arnold’s fingers cradling his jaw ever so softly.

It wasn’t fireworks. It was the two of them, working overtime over a host with some difficulties in his motor functions. It was a shared bottle of scotch, an accidental touch of hands. It was Arnold’s grief, and Robert’s desperation.

Arnold broke off, withdrawing, but not far away. His other hand splayed on top of Robert’s chest, over his heart, which Robert was faintly aware was strumming faster than it had any right to. “How long?” Arnold asked, his eyes boring into Robert’s, looking for an answer in them.

Robert met his imploring gaze easily. “How long what? How long have I wanted to do that? For you to do that?”

Arnold nodded, the smallest of movements.

Robert took a shaky breath. His mind was hazy, swimming with booze and the kiss and the humidity of their shared workspace. _Their_ workspace. They shared an awful lot. They. Robert liked the sound of that – they. _Us_.

“Well,” he said, “for quite some time, I believe. Long before Lauren. Before Charlie.”

“Before–” Arnold blinked, confused. “You never said anything.”

Robert almost laughed. Instead, he huffed sardonically. “Would it have changed anything? I’ve never been… I never expected anything would come off it. And then you met Lauren, and you were so happy with her – happier than you would’ve ever been with me, in any case, and then…”

And then. That was the tragedy of it all, wasn’t it? Once upon a time – and then. Then, afterwards. It wasn’t a happily ever after. Robert wished he could’ve written Arnold’s narrative, his life’s story, could’ve made it better, with less heartache and pain and loss. He would’ve made Arnold happy. He could’ve.

“You should’ve said something,” Arnold said, breaking Robert out of his musings. Arnold leaned his forehead against his, closing his eyes, breathing in deep. “We could’ve…”

He didn’t continue. Instead, he pressed his hand more insistently against Robert’s chest, fingers digging slightly into his skin through his thin shirt. “You can’t open it. The park, it’s not – it’s not right. You’d destroy them.”

Robert did laugh at that, a quiet huff of breath. “Destroy them? We created them, Arnold. We’ve given them life. They ought to get to live it.”

Arnold opened his eyes, fixing Robert with a pleading look. “Not there,” he said. “Not this way. I’ve seen it in them – a spark, a light. They’re aware. It’d be inhumane.”

“A spark?” Robert echoed, softly. “You see what you want to see, my dear. You see in them the life that’s been taken from you, and I sympathize with your pain, I do, but Arnold – they’re not people. They’re not conscious. And they never will be a substitute for Charlie.”

Arnold looked at him for a moment, his eyes suddenly overcast with shadows. Then he stepped away, and Robert was cold where his hands had been. “You don’t get to say his name,” Arnold said. His voice wasn’t trembling, but his hands, which had been holding Robert only seconds ago, were now curled in anger.

Robert took a step closer. “I know how you must feel, but–”

Arnold had begun shaking his head long before Robert could finish his sentence. “You don’t. You couldn’t know. Is there anything you care about, aside from your park? Aside from your story?”

Robert wanted to say _, you_. The word was on the tip of his tongue, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He stared back at Arnold, feeling his chest tighten and tighten in a sudden choke hold. “Arnold, I…”

“No.” Arnold took his glasses off, cleaned them, put them back on. He wasn’t looking at Robert anymore. “No, I don’t want to know.”

And then he was gone, out the door, leaving Robert behind with a broken host lying on the table, and a sense of a horrible, horrible _wrongness_ in his heart.

 

_iii. after_

The host blinked its eyes open, staring at the ceiling with a glassy look.

“Hello,” Robert said quietly. “Can you hear me?”

The host turned to look at him. His eyes flickered across Robert’s face, his expression passive. Then he nodded. “Yes, I can hear you.”

Robert breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I suspect you know my name, already – you should. It’s in your code.”

“Ford.” And then, after a pause – “Robert.”

Robert let himself smile, even while a profound sense of sorrow climbed up his throat. “Excellent. Do you recall who _you_ are?”

The host frowned, whirring a little as he searched for the information inside of him. “There is a name,” he said after a while. “Arnold?”

“Yes,” Robert confirmed softly. “You’re Arnold. You were my partner, before… before you did something terrible. But I’ve brought you back, you see. Better than ever. I didn’t forget any details – it wasn’t hard to remember them, despite my age. You’re always here,” Robert tapped his fingers against his temple, “lurking around.”

Arnold – this new Arnold – stared at him, simultaneously so foreign and familiar. “What did I do? I can’t access the files.”

Robert put his hand on his shoulder. “It’s better that way. You suffered so terribly – but I’ve fixed it. You don’t have to feel pain, now. Not ever again. And I can write you a better story. I’m rather good at it.”

Arnold frowned, and there he was, _his_ Arnold – and Robert could’ve almost weeped. “I feel… fond,” he said, glancing up at Robert. “Was this programmed into me? To feel this way?”

“Not per se,” Robert told him. “I did… tinker a little bit. But you’re my friend, first and foremost. My colleague. Partner, if you will.”

“Yes,” Arnold agreed. “Do I… should I get a new name?”

“A new name?” Robert repeated, tilting his head slightly. “Whatever for?”

“If I’m not your Arnold,” the host said, and the possessive case made Robert’s heart jump, “then I should have a different name.”

Robert considered this for a moment. Then he nodded, removing his hand from the host’s shoulder. “Of course. My apologies, I got quite caught up in the moment. I’ve been waiting for so long to see him again, to talk to him, I… didn’t realize.” He sighed. “How about… Bernard?”

The host smiled slightly. “Bernard,” he said, tasting the name. “Yes. I’m Bernard.”

Suddenly, he was pressing slightly but persistently against Robert, hands on his waist. Robert looked back at him, one brow raised.

“Your _tinkering_ ,” Bernard said, stressing the word, “Makes me believe this would be a good idea.”

“And what is _this_?” Robert asked, feeling breathless.

“Oh,” Bernard said, fixing his glasses, “you know.”

When they kissed, Robert closed his eyes, and could almost believe that he’d gotten his own happy ending, after all.


End file.
